Thriving When You Feel Invisible

Unworthy.  There’s a word….a word that has nagged and needled me throughout my Christian walk.  There are times when it has languished and times when it has sat front and center, showing up after failure, during comparison, and in seasons when God has felt distant.  Even though I know all the right scriptures, the feeling still lingers:  I’m not enough. I don’t deserve grace. God must be tired of me.  Feeling unworthy is not a one-time struggle…it’s a quiet, recurring battle.  For me, unworthy often partners with another “un” word:  unseen.  Feeling unworthy can also make you feel invisible.  Those moments in life when you feel forgotten—your prayers seem unanswered, your suffering unnoticed, and your presence overlooked.  You simply feel pushed to the margins.

When I feel like that, I think about Hagar.

Her story in the book of Genesis is emotionally raw and personal.  She was not someone with power or choice, but an Egyptian servant caught up in the desperate plan of Abraham and Sarah. She was made to solve a problem that had nothing to do with her.  Used, mistreated, and blamed, she ends up running into the wilderness—pregnant, alone, and rejected. If anyone had reason to believe God had forgotten her, it was Hagar.

The fact is you don’t have to be alone to feel invisible.  You could be immersed in church activity, sitting in a pew surrounded by others during worship, or even serving in ministry with a room full of people and still feel that quiet ache that whispers, Do I even matter?

You could be immersed in church activity, sitting in a pew surrounded by others during worship, or even serving in ministry with a room full of people and still feel that quiet ache that whispers, Do I even matter?

Hagar’s story reminds us that no one is ever invisible to the Lord.  While alone and anguished in that desert, something remarkable happened. 

“The angel of the Lord found Hagar near a spring in the desert…” (Genesis 16:7)

Found her.

That part gets me every time.  Hagar didn’t find God.  She didn’t have the strength or clarity for that.  God went looking for her.  He did not ignore her distress.  Instead, He pursued her.  He called her by name.  How shocking that must have been for her, to be known so personally in a moment when she felt so used and disposable.  He acknowledged her pain, provided in her desperate moment, and made promises concerning her future and her son. 

 In response, Hagar declared, “You are the God who sees me.” (Genesis 16:13) 

This name she gives God, El Roi—the God who sees me, is the name I cling to when my faith feels thin.  Not the God who fixes everything instantly.  Not the God who explains my pain. The God who sees.  

Not the God who fixes everything instantly.  Not the God who explains my pain. The God who sees.  

Feeling unseen doesn’t mean we are unseen. Feeling forgotten doesn’t mean God has forgotten. Sometimes pain narrows our vision, and God meets us not by changing our circumstances instantly, but by reminding us: I am here. I see you. I have always been watching.

Hagar’s story invites us to trust that even when we feel pushed aside or forgotten, we are fully known by a God who meets us in the desert and calls us by name.  It also reminds us that the wilderness is often where God reveals His faithfulness most clearly.

When you feel unworthy, it may be an invitation—not to hide, but to come closer to God. To stop striving and start resting. To lay down the exhausting attempt to earn what has already been freely given.

It is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast
— Ephesians 2:8-9

Grace is a gift, and gifts don’t need to be earned…only received.

When unworthiness creeps in, it tries to convince me that my failures define me. But Scripture says, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6). I may stumble, but “the Lord upholds all who fall and lifts up all who are bowed down” (Psalm 145:14).

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to completely shake my feelings of unworthiness.  What I do know is God isn’t asking me to become worthy. He’s inviting me to believe that, in Him, I already am.  I’m learning that God sees me in my wilderness. He sees the things I don’t say out loud.  I’m learning that feeling unseen is not the same as being unseen. Hagar’s story tells me that God specializes in seeing the ones the world overlooks.  I’m learning that feeling unworthy doesn’t disqualify me from being seen—it’s the very place where God shows up most clearly.  I’m learning that God’s love is steady even when my faith feels fragile.

So, when I feel unworthy, I’m choosing—again and again—to lean into God’s truth instead of running from it.

I am not loved because I am worthy.  

I am loved because God is good.

And that is enough.

April Beck

April is a seasoned elementary teacher of 23 years, a brand-new Mimi to two precious grandbabies, and a woman who deeply loves Jesus. Whether she is serving in her local church, planning a camping trip, or standing at the front of a classroom, April brings joy, wisdom, and compassion to everything she does. She is passionate about living generously and being the hands and feet of Jesus, especially to those in need.

Her writing journey began during graduate school, where professors encouraged her to explore her voice through heartfelt reflections. Though life pulled her into teaching and ministry, the desire to write stayed with her. Through storytelling and Scripture, April hopes to encourage others with the reminder that none of us are alone in our struggles. We all need grace, community, and space to be honest.

April feels most connected to God in moments of worship, service, and creation. She is on a mission to visit as many national parks as possible, soaking in the beauty of God’s handiwork. Her writing often begins with prayer and a bullet-point list, allowing her thoughts to unfold with purpose. Her hope is that readers walk away reminded that God meets us in our mess, and His mercies truly are new every morning.

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